


Moving Forward (or, Damn it, I'm Allowed to be Happy, Too)

by Pipergirl17



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 10:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19904155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pipergirl17/pseuds/Pipergirl17
Summary: "I know what it’s like not to have Harry around and it was the worst, most wretched year of my life. Call it experience, call it maturity, call it whatever you want - I’ve come to accept that I deserve to be happy. And if Harry Dresden is the man who makes me happy, then I can accept that, too."  Karrin Murphy finally allows herself to let Harry into her heart.  Murphy POV.





	Moving Forward (or, Damn it, I'm Allowed to be Happy, Too)

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into Dresdenverse fanfic - this is very exciting (and scary)! I really hope I got Karrin Murphy's voice right - as Jim wrote Aftermath from her perspective, it means I have a high standard to live up to. Timing of this story is between Cold Days and Skin Game - a bit A/U, as Harry isn't staying on Demonreach and doesn't suffer from headaches.
> 
> This was beta'd for grammar and continuity, but not by someone who's read the books. As a result, I do apologize for any inconsistencies with the Dresdenverse.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own The Dresden Files - they belong solely to Jim Butcher. I have borrowed some of its characters for a spot of fun and am not profiting from this story.
> 
> And lastly, rated a hard R for a reason, kids. Be ye warned.

Stupid Harry Dresden and his stupid mouth. 

I would have said it out loud but I was too busy running for my life. My lungs burned, my heart was pumping furiously and my limbs were turning into lead. 

A few blocks might not sound like a lot of ground to cover, but consider the following. Olympic sprinters run for what, two hundred metres? Four hundred? We’d been sprinting for a few blocks, and that's a sight farther than four hundred metres. 

Now, I’m not saying that either Harry or I are Usain Bolt. What I’m saying is the Fomor run fast. Really, really fast. So we had to run faster than them, and over a fair distance. 

We eventually turned a corner into an alley and stopped. I’m not really sure I could have kept going. I leaned forward, resting my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath, and let myself fall back against the wall. 

“Hey, Harry?” I said, still panting, once I was sure we hadn’t been followed. It looked like the decoy spell he’d been working on actually worked. That would sure come in handy, given we always seemed to be chased by something or other these days. 

“Yeah, Murph?” he replied. It was satisfying to hear he was just as winded as me. 

“Do me a favour the next time you decide to mouth off to the bad guys?” 

“What’s that?” 

“Let me know ahead of time so I can shoot you first.” 

He let out a raspy chuckle, the jerk. “Dunno - you can move pretty fast for someone with such short legs.” He straightened up, his weight resting against the brick behind him. “You run like Velma, from the old Scooby Doo show - you know, the one with Casey Kasem?” He mimed a running motion with his index and middle fingers, wagging them back and forth rapidly. 

My teeth ground together as I reined in my anger. “Come closer and say that, Shaggy…” 

Just then, we heard a sound around the corner from where we had stopped. Harry muttered a curse and placed himself between me and whatever was coming, his spell-protected duster acting as a shield. Ever since he’d become the Winter Knight, he could move his lanky ass pretty damn fast. 

We stood there, silent, listening for more noise. I reached for my gun but hesitated when I realized that whatever was coming around the corner wasn’t making any effort to mask its steps. Soon, the sound of two voices and two distinct sets of footfalls made themselves heard. 

Two men, plain old vanilla mortals, gave me and Harry a cursory glance as they walked by without interrupting their conversation. 

“So he offers me three thousand,” the man on the left, taller and broader in the shoulders than his friend, said. “I don’t care what shape her body’s in. She’s got a hemi under the hood - I’m not letting her go for less than five…” 

“Damn right,” the other man agreed. He took a pull of his cigarette then carelessly flicked the ashes to the side. “I’ve seen ‘em going for sixty five hundred over at Darryl’s out on…” 

Their voices blended in with the sound of the late evening traffic as they turned the corner onto Michigan. I exhaled a relieved breath, letting my head fall back gently against the brick wall. I’d been too damn tired to get into another tussle. I opened my mouth to say as much, but the words died somewhere between my brain and tongue when I realized the position Harry and I were now in. 

At some point while I’d been distracted by possible danger he’d lifted me up off the ground, pinning me against the wall with his narrow hips cradled between my thighs. He had one arm palm out against the wall to steady himself and the other under my ass, holding me up. 

How the hell had I not felt that happening? 

What I _did_ feel, though, was something hard pressed against my centre - something very distracting and not inconsiderable, from what I could tell. Had I been less turned on I might have tried to lighten the situation with a “Gee, Dresden, is that a blasting rod in your pocket or are you happy to see me?” quip. Thing is, I was afraid if I opened my mouth I’d just let out a moan. 

Hey, it _had_ been a long time. Who could blame a girl? 

Then he surprised me. Harry Dresden, _wizard_ , lowered his face and locked gazes with me, unflinching. 

I sucked in a quiet little gasp at the brazen move but frowned when a soulgaze never happened. From what he’d always told me, locking gazes with a wizard for more than a few seconds would instigate a soulgaze where we would, well, gaze into each other’s soul. Although I’d known Harry for well over a decade - what were we at now, thirteen, fourteen years? - all I’d ever gotten were brief glimpses of his eyes, an unguarded second or two here and there. He looked at my nose, I looked at his cheekbones, he looked at my forehead, I looked at his ear. Sometimes it felt like I was having a conversation with Rain Man. 

Those few stolen glances, though, had shown me a warm, friendly gaze and not the flat, alien stare currently aimed my way. 

“He wants this,” Harry said, his voice cold and rough. 

“What?” I asked, confused. “Who are you talking about?” 

“My vessel. He wants _this_ ,” he repeated, punctuating the last word with a roll of his hips that made my breath hitch. “Wants to take you against this wall. Feel your heat surrounding him. Hear you scream his name.” He sneered. “But he’s weak. For all his power, he doesn’t take what he wants. 

“It would be easy for him to enslave your thoughts, make you crave his touch, _beg_ him to fuck you, but…” His lips pulled back into a leer that didn’t belong on Harry’s face. Harry’s smile was mischievous, wry, grim, warm (my favourite, but I’ll never admit to it unless I want to be teased about being a closet romantic), but it’s never been disturbing. 

“But he wouldn’t need to try very hard, would he? I’ve seen the way you look at him, the way you lean into him when he’s close. Even now, in this dirty alley surrounded by refuse, you’re wet for him. I can,” he inhaled deeply, pressing against me in a very distracting and erotic rhythm, “smell your arousal.” 

I felt my cheeks flush at his crude remarks, the weight of humiliation pressing against my chest, but I tamped it down. Harry was in there, trying to fight his way out - _God_ , he was so obstinate, there was no way he wasn’t - and the last thing he needed was to get distracted by what was being said to me. I needed to deal with this myself - the Winter Mantle is part of Harry and I knew if I was going to continue having him in my life, I’d have to accept that the Mantle would be there, too. 

And that meant showing the Mantle I wouldn’t take any of its shit. 

“You’re right,” I replied. “I _do_ want Harry. But not for the reasons you think - not for his power, or for his status as the Winter Queen’s knight. I want him because he’s a good man, because he puts his life on the line over and over again to help people. I want him because he’s funny, and he’s humble, and he’s honest. I want Harry in all the ways he’s different from you.” 

The mantle laughed, making Harry’s voice sound creepy. “Your words do not cut me, woman. I do not fear you.” He pressed himself against me again, making my pulse spike despite the wrongness of the contact. I had to remind my body that this was _not_ Harry. 

“Maybe not,” I said, “but you should fear Harry. He had a goddamned fallen angel in his head and _he_ ended up converting _her_.” I stared him straight in the eyes. “Harry, you’re stronger than this thing. I believe in you.” 

“Cunt,” it ground out through clenched teeth. “You can’t possibly believe he can…” His rant was interrupted by a flash of pain, his brow furrowed and jaws clamped shut. 

“Get out of my goddamned head!” Harry - the real Harry - yelled, shaking his head like a dog drying off, as if the physical action could actually evict the entity residing inside him. 

_Thank god_ , I thought to myself, relieved. I didn’t know how long I could have fended him off if he’d persisted. I’d dealt with a sexual predator before, and I’d dealt with a monster who looked like Dresden. Both had left me with nightmares that still plagued me occasionally. 

Harry looked at me, face drawn. “I’m sorry, Murph. God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how it got out, but I’m gonna beat this thing,” he growled, his voice tense. “Fucking kick its ass all the way back to Arctis Tor.” 

Then he paused, noticing our arrangement. “Um… why am I holding you like this?” 

In his confusion his grip on me slipped. I grabbed his shoulders and wrapped my legs around his waist to avoid falling down just as he pressed himself harder against me to hold me in place. The pressure, right where I needed it, caused a wave of pleasure to wash over me. I let out a gasp and a moan, my body arching as my climax finally hit. 

“Murph… _Karrin_ ,” he whispered, “did you just…” 

I should have been embarrassed - really, I should have been - but as endorphins flowed through me I just felt giddy. “Yeah,” I replied with a relieved sigh. I let my head drop back against the wall, still gripping his shoulders and waist tightly, feeling the aftershocks flow through me. “God, I needed that…” 

“Hell’s bells, Karrin,” he said, his voice rough. Then he kissed me, urgently and passionately and _ohmygod_ could Harry Dresden kiss. We lost ourselves in the embrace and each other, forgetting where we were until a gaggle of teenagers walking by whistled and laughed. 

I sighed contentedly as he set me down. I had a feeling the look on my face matched his - neither of us had really expected the night to take this turn, but it was far from unwelcome. Maybe it was the push we both needed. I took his hand and looked up at him. “Harry, I’m tired of pretending this - _us_ ,” I waved a finger between us, “isn’t a good idea.” 

“Yeah?” he asked. He sounded hopeful. 

“Yeah,” I confirmed. My heart almost beat through my ribcage as I found the courage to plough ahead. “Maybe we can go back to my house and give it a try?” I really hoped he caught my meaning because I didn’t think my cheeks could get any redder. 

He squeezed back. “I’d like that very much,” he replied, understanding full well what I’d been asking. 

I held his hand all the way back to my car, my pulse never slowing down. 

*^^*^^* 

I pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. Even through the closed windows, I could hear the sounds of a warm summer night: the hushed voices of the young couple next door as they enjoyed their new hot tub, the bubbling of that gaudy fountain in the Pattersons’ front yard, the hum of various insects. 

“So,” Harry broke the silence, his voice quiet. “We’re actually gonna do this, huh?” 

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach, making me feel nervous. I’m an adult. I’ve been married twice. Hell, I even went on a sex vacation with a non-human mercenary. Why was I so nervous? _Because this is Harry_ , an inner voice reasoned. _This actually_ means _something._

I turned in my seat, managing to do that ‘looking but not looking’ thing. “Yeah,” I confirmed, to both him and myself. “We’re actually gonna do this.” 

He looked even more nervous than I felt, his fingers drumming on one knee, shoulders and back set as straight as they could in the confines of my Hyundai. “You ok with that?” I asked. If he wasn’t, I’d wait. I’ve built my life around Harry - I could practice a bit more patience. 

When he answered, his voice was deep and rough and my body reacted to it on a primal level, like a tide to the moon’s pull. 

Ok, so maybe being patient was going to be harder than I’d thought. 

“Hell yeah,” he replied. “It’s just that…What I’m trying to say is that I’m not...” He broke off with a huff, flustered. 

“I know,” I said, understanding exactly what he was trying to say. _It’s been so long, I don’t even know where to begin, I’m afraid of fucking this up, What if we lose what we have?_ “The same thoughts are going through my head.” 

I reached over and covered his left hand with my right one, squeezing gently. He squeezed back, fingers still scarred from the injury he sustained years ago against a vampire of the Black Court called Mavra. Some of her henchmen had used flamethrowers armed with homemade napalm that had overheated his magical defenses, leaving his hand looking like a lump of wax. That had been a lifetime ago - quite literally for Harry, as he’d died and come back since then. I’d say wizards are special that way, but returning from the dead is 100% Harry Dresden. That man is so obstinate that Hades himself would probably send him back. 

A strong pang of grief hit me, the memory of my time without him, and I leaned over the console to press my mouth to his before he could see my tears. I didn’t want to hijack our evening by being maudlin. 

What started as a chaste kiss quickly caught fire. Harry’s hand cupped the back of my head; my hair had grown back enough for him to twist his fingers in it and tilt my head back to deepen the kiss. I let out an embarrassingly loud whine when the velvet of his tongue brushed against mine, which he responded to with a growl. I twisted, trying to climb over to join him in his seat (yeah, I know, he hardly fit in it himself but I wasn’t really thinking clearly, for obvious reasons), but found myself irritatingly restrained. “Damn it,” I snarled, blindly punching the seat belt release. 

Harry’s hand reached out, stilling my frantic actions. “Maybe we should go in,” he whispered, pulling back and slowly opening his eyes. “Before you break your car.” His lips pulled up into a crooked smirk. “That’s usually my job.” 

I chuckled, knowing he was right. I’d been _this_ close to simply ripping the seatbelt right off of the seat. 

We exited the car and stepped onto the short pathway that led to my front door. We naturally fell into formation, me in front and Harry taking the rear (I’d made the mistake, once, of saying that out loud in front of him - he’d earned the ‘ _pig_ ’ I’d thrown his way). I guess it didn’t matter if we were heading into a fight or to boink like rabbits - nighttime is nighttime, and you’ve got to be ready for anything. We both knew better than most what goes bump in the night. 

The forces of evil must have been busy elsewhere because we made it to my front door unmolested. Small miracles. I felt Harry’s presence behind me as I unlocked the door. My hands weren’t shaking, I told myself as I tried for the third time to slip the key in its hole, it was just too dark to see. _Yeah, right_. 

Once in, we managed to keep our hands to ourselves until our coats were hanging neatly in the hall closet and our shoes were kicked off. After that, though, there wasn’t any reason to hold back. I turned towards Harry and, grabbing a fistful of his t-shirt, tugged him down a few flights to my level. 

I’d never really thought about what it would be like to kiss Harry. 

Ok. That’s a lie. I’d spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about what it would be like to kiss Harry. He was old fashioned, with manners dating from the Cretaceous period and, aside from the odd innuendo, was very shy about sex and relationships. Hell, I’d seen him blush at the mere mention of my panties. I’d wondered - would he be reserved? Shy? Would he still be as chivalrous, waiting for the woman to make all the moves? 

Until tonight, we had only shared a few kisses, nearly all of them chaste presses of the lips between slightly-more-than-friends. Aside from firing up my imagination, they hadn’t given me much insight into the true level of passion he might harbour. 

Ends up, Harry’s a pretty passionate guy. 

The embrace was intense, eclipsing the others we’d shared that evening. Even bent at what had to have been an uncomfortable angle, Harry pressed his mouth to mine, devouring it in a series of open-mouth kisses that left me light-headed. His hands, meanwhile, wandered down my back until they rested on my ass. 

And then he lifted me up as though I weighed nothing. Sure, he’d done it back in the alley but I hadn’t been aware of it then. I’m only five feet tall, but I weigh one hundred and five pounds of solid muscle. Even for a big guy like Harry that should have been a bit of a challenge, but he didn’t even strain. 

He must’ve guessed my line of thought because he whispered “Mantle. Again.” 

I stared at him for a moment, my brain playing a loop of scenes where his strength came in handy (and I wasn’t thinking about asking him to help me move garden stones). “Good to know it has its uses,” I deadpanned, wrapping my legs tightly around his hips. “Aside from trying to piss me off, that is.” 

Harry let out a surprised laugh. It took away the stress, worry and anger he’d been carrying around with him, making him look ten years younger. Hell, _I_ felt ten years younger laughing with him. It had been way too long since I’d felt happy - not relief from sorrow, but the kind of carefree joy you feel right down to your soul. 

“God, I love you,” he said, still smiling. He had a really nice smile. “Why did it take us so long to get here?” 

“Because we both have blind spots the size of Texas when it comes to us?” I suggested, watching the living room disappear out of view as he walked us to my bedroom. 

“Yeah, sounds about right,” he agreed, dropping me gently onto the bed. “Good thing we’re seeing clearly now.” His mouth found a particularly sensitive spot just below my earlobe that had me bite back a moan, his lips following course down my throat to the vee of my blouse. He held himself above me on his right forearm, his left hand trying awkwardly to pry apart the buttons on my top. He groaned in frustration, pausing to switch sides. 

After the third failed attempt with his right hand I swatted it away and said “Up!” He gave me a surprised, wounded look as he sat back on his haunches. “You take care of yours and I’ll take care of mine,” I clarified in a more gentle tone, deftly undoing my own buttons. He quickly caught on, tugging his t-shirt off in that odd way only guys do - you know, where they grab the fabric between their shoulder blades and pull it over their head. Weirdos. 

I stared at Harry in mute wonder, my fingers stalling on my last button. I’d forgotten just how much he’d been working out since he’d become the Winter Knight. Lean and well-defined, he was cut enough to give his brother Thomas some serious competition. And considering Thomas was an incubus, that was saying something. I needed to distract myself otherwise I’d start drooling, so I focused on slipping my blouse and bra off. 

He looked at me, trying his damnedest not to stare at my chest (which was ridiculous - wasn’t that the purpose of what we were doing?), his mouth opening and closing. “Murph…” he finally exhaled, lifting his gaze to meet mine for a dangerously long time. 

I gave him my best sex-kitten smile (which was so out of practice I almost forgot how) and crooked my finger at him. Out of practice or not, the smile worked; Harry groaned, falling forward with exaggerated comic abandon. He may have even made a sound patented by a Loony Tunes character from the 1940’s. His mouth found mine and we shared a kiss that was certainly _not_ from any kid-friendly cartoons. Frantic and needy, the embrace was tinged with the desperation of a passion that had been building for years. 

My fingers clawed at his shoulders as he moved south, his lips ghosting down my throat, along my collarbone, and down to my breasts. His mouth latched onto one peak while his hand palmed the other, his slow, deliberate ministrations likely intended to gradually drive me insane. He switched and started all over again on the other side and I couldn’t help the groan that slipped out. “Dresden,” I ground out, reverting to the use of last names, “get on with it.” 

Get on with what, though, I wasn’t sure. 

Thankfully, Harry knew. He grumbled something about pushy dames and his mouth continued along its path, pressing hot kisses down the flat of my stomach until he reached the waistband of my pants. He looked up at me, seeking permission in a quick glance. I nodded, lifting my butt off the mattress to allow him to pull them off. 

He slipped my panties off at the same time, and then I was bare. In front of Harry Dresden. And it didn’t feel weird or wrong or even embarrassing. 

Actually, it felt kind of… right. 

What also felt right was when he leaned in and swept his lips over my inner thigh, his two-day old stubble brushing lightly against me. I squirmed at the sensation but his hands held me firmly in place. “Ticklish?” he teased, raising an eyebrow. 

I opened my mouth to tell him off, but then he turned his focus elsewhere and my mind went blank. I didn’t even try to hold back the moan that pushed its way past my lips at the first swipe of his tongue along my centre. “Oh, _god_ , Harry,” I whimpered, my pulse racing, nerves on fire. 

It had been a long time since a guy had gone down on me, and Harry was really, really good at it. He kept me on edge, never settling on one rhythm or move, always changing it up as soon as I got comfortable. I could feel my release building with every pass of his tongue, a slow and torturous climb that would surely drive me crazy. When his mouth finally latched on my clit, it was cold - like, _ice cube_ cold - and my back arched off the bed in pleasure. I came, then, swearing a blue streak, moaning his name, invoking God… there was probably some babbling in there, too. I didn’t really care. For once I just let go and allowed myself to be happy. 

I watched bonelessly as Harry stood up and removed the rest of his clothes before joining me. “You ok?” he asked, his voice quiet and tinged with amusement. 

“You need to change your business card,” I said, still catching my breath. “Cross out professional wizard and replace it with professional cunnilinguist.” 

He blushed and smiled. “That good, huh?” 

“Yeah,” I replied, stretching up to reach his lips. We kissed, his body covering mine. He was freakishly tall but we somehow made it work anyway. 

Harry looked down at me, his eyes moving from my nose, to my cheekbone, to my forehead, finally settling somewhere between my eyebrows. “Karrin,” he said, his voice serious. “I can’t go through with this without looking you in the eyes. Kissing and fooling around are one thing, but sex is different. It’s more than that. It’s sharing something special, giving ourselves to each other.” 

“Baring our souls,” I added, understanding what he meant. Harry has never been one for inconsequential flings. He’s always poured his heart and soul into relationships - with Elaine, with Susan, with Luccio. If he wasn’t so hung up on commitment I’m sure we would have hooked up much earlier - I’d certainly considered the friends with benefits thing with Harry years ago. 

“Yeah,” he whispered back, his voice rough. 

I raised my eyes to his, finally, and after a moment I felt a tug at the pit of my stomach as if I was on a rollercoaster. And then... 

And then I was standing on a street in what appeared to be Chicago. It was nighttime, street lights casting long shadows across the empty road and sidewalks. “Hello?” I called out, but the only answer I got was silence. _Damn it, Harry, what am I supposed to do?_

An instinct told me to turn right so I did, following the solid yellow line dividing the road until the Field Museum appeared on the horizon. “Figures,” I grumbled under my breath. To this day, Harry and Butters still reminisce about when they’d taken Sue out for a ride. It took me another few minutes to reach the base of the museum, where I found Harry sitting on the steps. 

“Well, well. He finally smartened up, huh?” he asked. 

I frowned. “What do you mean, ‘he’?” 

“Harry. Who else?” He looked at me like I was a slow child. 

“Aren’t _you_ Harry?” I asked, running out of patience. If this was what soulgazes were like, no wonder wizards weren’t sharing them left, right and centre. 

He stood up, stretched, and hopped down the few steps to join me. Now that he was facing me, I could see a few differences between this Harry (Soul Harry, I guess I could call him) and the real Harry. Soul Harry was smartly dressed in black clothes that were so well-fitting they might have been tailored, had a better haircut (let me rephrase: he actually _had_ a haircut), and a neatly-kempt goatee. He also sported a delicate pin in the shape of a snowflake. That alone told me this wasn’t the real Harry Dresden - he was a grudging Winter Knight at best and sure as hell wouldn’t have advertised it. “Yes, and no,” he parried cryptically. My hand made a fist and he threw his hands up, palms out. “Whoa! You need to relax, Murphy. I guess you could say I’m Harry’s subconscious - his id. And I’m here as your guide.” 

My stance relaxed, and I felt some of the stress leave my shoulders and arms. “Ok,” I replied, looking up over his shoulder at the building behind him. “Lead on - I’ve never done this before.” 

He gave me a mischievous look, his eyes twinkling with a look I knew all too well. 

“Not a word,” I growled. 

Laughing, he turned and started jogging up the steps, taking them two at a time. I followed him - one at a time, damn his stork legs - and met him at the top. Oddly enough, I wasn’t winded at all by the sudden sprint. Sure, I was in good shape but I should have felt something - increased heartbeat, lactic acid burning in my legs, a _nything_. 

“You’re not _really_ running up steps, you know,” Soul Harry said, guessing where my thoughts were. “All of this, the whole soulgaze, won't take more than a few seconds out _there_ , no matter how much time elapses while you’re here.” 

“Huh,” I said, reminded of just how weird magic was. “Well, let's get this show on the road - I want to get back to Harry.” 

To my relief, Soul Harry just nodded and beckoned me to follow him into the museum. I really hoped I didn’t have to cough up admission because my wallet was in my jacket pocket, in the hall closet. Like, in real life. 

He held the door open for me, a shit-eating grin on his face. Damn him, he knew just how much he was pissing me off right now and he was enjoying it. I held back the impulse to kick him and instead walked over to use the nearest revolving door. Take _that_ , chivalry. 

Just like in a dream, the inside of the museum was nothing like what it was in real life. Instead of a vast marble concourse with ticket counters, dinosaurs and doorways leading into various galleries, we walked into a large room that looked like it had been decorated by the second-hand store fairy. Mismatched carpets covered the floors, spilling from one exhibit to the next, furniture that was more comfy than trendy seemed to be randomly placed here and there, and the walls were lined in dark wood panelling. 

As I stood there taking in my surroundings, I realized this wasn’t so much the Field Museum as the Harry Dresden Museum. Each exhibit appeared to represent a memory or significant time in his life. One exhibit with a flying broom caught my eye, but Soul Harry snagged my jacket sleeve before I could walk over there and tugged me in the opposite direction. 

“Not yet,” he said, guiding me across the room, eyeing the broom with a mixture of uncertainty and disapproval. “There’s an order of operations, a timeline we need to follow if we’re gonna do this the right way.” He walked me over to the first exhibit, a small area with a plaid brown and beige loveseat, a projector and one of those pull-down screens like we had back in grade school. While I sat down, my guide selected a film reel and set it up before taking up a spot beside me. 

“Popcorn?” he asked, offering an avocado-green Tupperware bowl. 

My first instinct was to decline - Soul Harry was a bit of a jerk, and I didn’t want to encourage him - but then I remembered this wasn’t really happening. Also, I could enjoy butter-soaked goodness without having to worry about calories. That won over, so I said “Sure” and grabbed a handful. 

The movie started, the familiar whir of the projector the only sound in the museum. Vignettes in black and white, grainy and a bit blurry, played one after the other, looping after only four of them. They all featured a tall, lanky man and a young boy of about five or six years old: driving in a car, opening Christmas presents, putting on a magic show for a kids’ hospital, and sitting by a campfire. 

“Oh, god,” I whispered, realizing what these were. I dropped my remaining popcorn back into the bowl, my appetite all but gone. 

“These are the only memories he has of his father,” Soul Harry said, his voice quiet in deference for the weight of the moment. 

I watched again, another half dozen times, committing Malcolm Dresden, his loving gaze and kind smile, to memory for Harry’s sake. He was so afraid of losing his humanity to the Mantle - I could help remind him of who he is, where he came from. 

“Time to move on,” my host said, standing up and giving me a bit of privacy to wipe at the tears pooling in my eyes. Taking a deep breath, and casting one last glance at the most cherished memories of Harry Dresden, I followed him to another exhibit. 

Once again, a second-hand couch awaited us, this one light grey with pastel geometric forms splattered across it. It was comfortable, though, like all of Harry’s old furniture had been when he still had his apartment. Soul Harry disappeared behind the temporary wall facing the couch and came back pushing a trolley bearing a TV and VCR. He crouched in front of the outdated technology, a tape in hand, and pressed a button. 

I groaned out loud when a tray popped out of the top of the machine. “Leave it to Harry to have a BETA player in his soul,” I said, shaking my head. 

The memories playing in this exhibit were nothing like those with his father. Justin DuMorne had been a twisted, manipulative, abusive man who raised two children through fear and pain. The TV showed young Harry kneeling before a fireplace, Justin crouching beside him. Although the scene looked benign, I could easily see the quiet menace in the older man’s face and stance as well as the fear in Harry. That made me mad. Fury welled up inside me, the thought of a child growing up in anything other than a loving home making me see red. A few memories later, DuMorne was throwing baseballs _at_ Harry, who looked like he was trying to put up and keep a defensive shield. I ground my teeth, hands balled into fists. Soul Harry gave me a wary side glance. “If he was still alive,” I growled, “I would find that son of a bitch and kill him with my bare hands.” 

He nodded, a pensive look on his face. “Harry’d appreciate that,” he said, after a brief pause. 

I was relieved to see there were also fonder memories, these ones involving Elaine - laughing together, being there for one another when the abuse was at its worst, sharing a first kiss, losing their virginity to each other. They’d been so young; it was heartbreaking to watch because I knew how it ended. None of Harry’s relationships had ended well. I could only hope ours was the one to buck the trend. 

The last memory was of a house engulfed in fire. Somehow, I could sense the confusion and hurt Harry had felt when DuMorne and Elaine had betrayed him as well as the fear for his life. The scene was hectic, with DuMorne and Harry facing each other, master and student in a duel to the death. We all know who won but I watched it unfold anyway, watched sixteen year-old Harry fight for his life and walk away, his life quite literally in flames. 

The TV went dark and I sat there, staring at it, digesting what I’d just watched. 

“Ready?” Soul Harry asked after a few minutes. I wanted to ask him how Harry had managed to stay sane despite everything that had happened to him. He’d lost everyone in his life, anyone he’d ever cared for - how does one carry on with the weight of that? I knew, though, that I’d be asking the wrong Harry. 

“Yeah,” I said, standing up. “How many more of these are there?” I really wanted to get back to Harry. Wanted to give him a great big hug, tell him that I love him, that he’s a good man. 

“I think we have time for one more,” my guide said, leading me past an exhibit consisting of concrete walls covered in posters. As we walked, Soul Harry quickened his pace forcing me to hurry along; I had a feeling he didn’t want to dwell on the scenes that looked like they were straight out of an Amnesty International ad. One poster in particular caught my eye as I rushed by: a tall male in a black hood facing a panel of stern men and women. Donald Morgan, scowling and severe, stood by with his sword at the ready. Lead settled in my stomach as I realized what scene that represented - I didn’t blame Soul Harry for not wanting to stop. I’d seen enough in that one image. No wonder Harry had wanted nothing to do with the Council for so long. 

I caught up to my guide in the recreation of a simple bedroom. There was a twin bed up against one wall, a dresser and a desk across from it, with an open window on the wall between them. A set of sheer curtains fluttered on a gentle breeze, an odd sensation to feel in the middle of a museum. Harry’s Star Wars poster - it didn’t have the tear at the top left corner yet - was taped above the desk. I walked over to the window, leaning forward, and breathed in deeply. I could smell damp grass and honeysuckle, caught the scent of rich earth and farm animals. I could hear the wind rustling the leaves on the oak tree that stood beside the house and the clucking of chickens with an occasional _moo_ , where a cow tried to get a word in edgewise. My eye caught movement by the barn where Harry - a bit older than he’d been at DuMorne’s, but not by much - and Ebenezar McCoy were bent over the hood of a tractor that looked like it had seen as many years as the old wizard himself. Wrench in hand, McCoy was pointing to the various parts of the engine while his apprentice, keenly focused, nodded in understanding. It was a quiet moment of relationship building, entirely unrelated to magic - something Harry had desperately needed after six years with Justin DuMorne. I made a note to thank Ebenezar the next time I saw him. 

We watched for a bit longer, saw Harry say something to his mentor, the two of them laughing afterwards. 

“If it wasn’t for Ebenezar,” Soul Harry said, leaning on his forearms on the windowsill beside me, “his patience, his love, his guidance, I… I don’t know where Harry would have ended up. Way more fucked up than he already is, that’s for sure.” 

I nodded in understanding. The idea of Harry as a warlock was frightening. With his power, his brute magical strength, and no moral compass to guide him, he would have been nearly impossible to stop. 

Eventually we walked away, my host guiding me towards displays of random artifacts. There was, among many other items, an advertisement for his practice, the newspaper cutout having yellowed and curled at the edges; a silver bullet; a gold engagement ring with a card. There was also a painting on the wall, set in an ornate frame, of a woman with dark hair, sharp eyes and a smirk I’d seen hundreds of times. 

_Margaret Gwendolyn LeFay,_ a plaque under the painting read. Harry’s mother had been beautiful. Strike that - she’d been _gorgeous_. And judging by the look on her face, it was easy to see where Harry had gotten his attitude from. 

I was about to ask Soul Harry a question about her when another woman caught my attention. A bit farther down the room was the image of what looked like an angel, hovering a few feet above a pedestal like a hologram. Blue eyes burned with a terrible intensity, her blonde hair and long white robes floating on an invisible wind, a flaming sword held out before her. Her clothing was stained and tattered and she was wounded, but it didn’t diminish her ferocity. “Who is she?” I asked my guide after he joined me. “Is this Lasciel?” 

He turned towards me, one eyebrow raised and the corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk as if there was a joke I wasn’t getting. Just as he opened his mouth to reply, we heard a noise coming from outside. 

“Shit,” Soul Harry said. “Tour’s over, I’m afraid.” 

“What was that?” I asked, following him to the exit. 

“Our newest ‘guest’,” he answered, bending his fingers into quotation marks. He all but ran out the doors and down the museum’s steps, and it was everything for me to keep up. We headed towards Lakeshore Drive, where the sounds of a fight were unmistakable. 

Harry - _my_ Harry, with his messy hair, five o’clock shadow and ill-fitting clothes - faced off against an enormous shadowy creature, his teeth bared and feet firmly planted on the ground, hands extended outward. The monster reminded me of the one Gandalf fought in The Lord of the Rings - the Balrog, I think it was called (fantasy movies are more of a Harry thing). Instead of fire, though, this creature was shrouded in frost. It turned its gaze towards me as I approached, soulless blue eyes tracking my movements like a predator. 

I recognized that gaze - I’d looked upon it earlier that evening. It was the Winter Mantle, and it and Harry were locked in battle, evenly matched, neither gaining nor losing much ground to the other. 

“Do something!” I yelled at Soul Harry. 

He looked at me and shrugged helplessly. “I can’t. The Mantle is real, but I’m not - I have no power over it.” 

I turned towards Harry again. He looked so damn tired. Tired of facing this thing, of carrying this burden alone. The unfairness of it made me so angry. In here, he didn’t have Thomas or Ebenezar or the Alphas to back him up. He didn’t even have Molly. 

_But I’m here_. I almost facepalmed myself at the realization that I was in a position to help Harry, to stand by his side in his fight. I took a step forward but was held back by Soul Harry’s grip. “What?” I snarled, angry at being detained. 

He held out a gun, a knowing smile on his lips. I took it from him, and then the weirdest thing happened. The gun changed into a flaming sword, casting a blinding light around me. I looked down and saw that my jacket, shirt and pants had been traded in for a white tunic. I was dressed like the woman in the museum. “What the f…” 

“ _You_ are the woman in the museum, Murphy. That’s how Harry has always seen you - fierce, beautiful and terrifying.” He didn’t give me any time to process what he’d revealed - I was stunned speechless - instead giving me a hard shove between the shoulder blades. “Go. For fuck’s sake, if you two don’t come together soon I’m going to explode from the UST.” 

Pushing everything but helping Harry out of my mind, I ran over to face his foe alongside him. Harry glanced quickly my way and smiled, relieved; he stood straighter, the weariness gone from his face and shoulders, his power doubling. The Mantle hesitated, looking between Harry and me, before being pushed a few feet back. 

“That’s right, asshole,” I ground out between clenched teeth, holding my sword out. “You fight Harry, you fight me too.” Harry and I took a step forward, weapons at the ready, and then… 

And then I was back in my house, in my bed, in Harry’s arms. There were traces of tears on his cheeks. I was going to tease him - call him a little girl - when I realized that I was crying, too. I don’t know what he saw in my soul, what terrible, dark things he witnessed, but somehow I knew he’d helped shoulder my burden just as I had his because I felt lighter than I had in years. 

“I love you, Karrin,” he whispered, his voice rough and shaky. 

I looked up at him, not sure if I’d ever felt this way about anyone before. It was like falling in love for the first time, all over again. “I love you too.” I couldn’t help but chuckle as I reached up and wiped the tears from his cheeks. “Look at us. Who else would end up in tears the first time they had sex?” 

“Guess that’s just proof we’re made for each other,” he laughed back. His smile turned to a groan when I reached down between us, taking him in hand. He’d softened during the soulgaze and the emotional aftermath, but a few sure strokes had him hard again. 

There had been more than enough waiting, enough delays and excuses. I placed him at my entrance and met his eyes, our gazes unwavering. Harry has beautiful eyes, and now I have the luxury of losing myself in them. 

He pushed into me slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed inside me. “ _Fuck_ ,” he cursed, dropping his forehead into the curve of my shoulder. “God, you feel good.” 

“ _Unh_ ,” I moaned, unable to pull together anything more coherent. He _was_ right - it felt really good. 

He began to move, his strokes slow and controlled. His mouth found mine and we shared a languid embrace, keeping the same pace as our bodies. I leaned my head back, deepening the kiss, and wound my fingers through his hair. My hands explored the breadth of his shoulders and back, feeling the play of his muscles as he moved above me. 

As good as it felt, I wanted Harry to lose some of his tight control, to give in and just _let go_. Planting my feet firmly on the mattress, I met his thrusts, increasing the pace. 

“Wait,” he begged, placing a hand on my hip, trying to slow me down. 

“Harry,” I whispered, my lips ghosting the shell of his ear. “I _want_ you to go faster. It’s ok.” 

His answer was simply a groan, and then he nodded, slipping a hand under my ass, lifting it to increase the depth of his thrusts. I answered his groan with a needy whine, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Don’t you dare slow down,” I threatened him, nerves singing, my whole body on edge. 

“Not happening,” he ground back in response. 

We moved together, bodies slick with sweat, our rhythm wavering, the difference in our heights becoming more tricky as we sought our release. We got louder as well, the banging of the headboard against the wall punctuating the sound of our combined moans. Even if I’d had any of my faculties left (which I didn’t - Harry was seeing to that rather effectively), I wouldn’t have cared who the hell overheard us. 

“Are you close?” Harry asked, looking down at me, eyes unfocused, irises almost eaten up by his pupils. A drop of sweat slid down the length of his nose, dripping onto my cheek. “Cause I don’t know how much longer I can last.” His breathing came out in quick, shallow puffs, his arms shaking with the strain of holding the bulk of his weight off me. 

“Just let go,” I urged him on. “I’ll be right there with you.” And I was. I followed him over the cliff, my body coming off the bed in the most intense orgasm I’d ever had. 

A few heartbeats later Harry rolled onto his back, lying beside me on the bed. “Hell’s bells,” he panted, his chest still heaving from our activities. He reached over and took my hand in his, squeezing it. “I’m gonna say it again, because it deserves repeating: why the hell did we wait so long?” 

I took a few deep breaths to get my pulse back to where it should be (or in the same time zone, at least). “Had I known the sex would be this good, I would have jumped you on the bridge all those years ago.” 

That got a good laugh out of him, and I chuckled too. We both knew it was precisely _because_ that didn’t happen that we’d reached this moment; we’d needed to be best friends first and lovers after. 

_Speaking of being lovers_ … I turned onto my side, propping my head up on my palm, and faced Harry. He looked up at me, guessed what was going through my mind, and raised an eyebrow. A slow, playful smile spread across his lips. “Another round already, Ms Murphy?” 

I matched his smile as I climbed on top of him, the heat in his gaze making my stomach flutter. “Why, Mr Dresden, that wasn’t a round - that was just the warm-up.” 

*^^*^^* 

I had time to shower, get dressed, make a quick run to Mariano’s and start breakfast before Harry got up. Men. One late-night sex marathon and it’s like they haven’t slept for a week straight. 

He entered the kitchen shirtless, unbuttoned jeans slung low on his hips and it took all my willpower to not just throw myself at him. Breakfast could cook itself, right? 

“Trying to catch flies, Murph?” he teased, walking over to place a kiss on my mouth, which may or may not have been hanging open. Like I said, Harry doesn’t work out in the traditional sense but whatever exercise routine Mab has him on does the job just fine. 

The kiss went from PG to R in no time, turning me into a panting, horny, mess. It would have been embarrassing if I hadn’t experienced first hand last night (and this morning) how well Harry can put his mouth and hands to use. Good god, I’m pretty sure I’d passed out at some point during last night’s activities. 

Reaching for the last strand of my sanity, I fought back the only way I could think of at that moment. I reached behind me, searching blindly for what I knew was there, my only available weapon. 

_Yes!_ Success! I pulled back and shoved the end of a slice of bacon in his mouth. 

“Gah…” he said through a mouthful of salty, smoky goodness. “You’re the goddess of breakfasts, Murph.” 

Bacon. Sure fire win every time. Even all-powerful wizards who can shoot fire from their bare hands are slaves to cured pork. 

“Sit,” I ordered, pointing the spatula at the small kitchen table. Harry sat down in the chair farthest from the stove and poured two glasses of orange juice. I’d picked up the one with lots of pulp, just how he likes it. (“You know, orange juice just isn’t orange juice if you can’t eat it with a fork and knife, Murph.”) 

A comfortable silence fell on the kitchen as I finished cooking breakfast. When the toast popped, Harry got up to get them, buttered them and placed two on each plate. It was as if we did this every morning, and the domesticity felt natural. 

I plated the eggs and bacon and sat down beside him. As we ate, it occurred to me that we’d never actually shared a breakfast where one or both of us wasn’t injured, in danger or on the lam. We’d had a few celebratory dinners at McAnally’s after solving a case, but I couldn’t remember the last time we’d gotten together for a meal as friends for no reason. That spoke volumes about the state of our lives... 

“You always look nice in a dress,” he said, interrupting my thoughts. 

I looked up, ready to shoot his teasing down with a barbed reply, but saw he was serious. That made me hesitate - I wasn’t really sure how to politely deal with a legitimate compliment. “Thanks,” I finally said, letting slide the fact that he’d only ever seen me in a dress once before. “I…” I shrugged, feeling oddly vulnerable. I’d hesitated that morning before reaching for the simple flowered dress, but forced myself to overcome my nerves by recalling Harry’s reaction to it the last time I’d worn it. “I felt feminine this morning.” 

That made him smile. Not the smartass ‘I’m about to call you a girl’ smile, but an honest to god smile that made my heart skip a beat. “Well, you do a great job at looking feminine, Murph.” 

Now I was smiling too. I tucked back into my breakfast before anything else could be said - I was already stretching my emotional boundaries as it was. I’d been open with my feelings once upon a lifetime ago, back when I’d married Greg. God, I’d been so young and innocent. My life had been a blank slate, full of possibilities. I had it all planned out: I was going to be a wife, a mother, a Lieutenant, grow old and be happy. Of course, things didn’t quite turn out that way for me, did they? If life’s taught me anything, it’s that sometimes you have to take a few detours to get to where you were meant to be. 

I looked up and saw that Harry was watching me with uncertainty, unable to gauge my sudden introspection. 

I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, found my smile again (it wasn’t hard around Harry) and stood up, gathering our plates. “I was thinking about how you make me happy,” I admitted. That was hard for me, talking openly about my feelings, but I owed it to him to be honest. “I haven’t been happy in a long, long time.” 

“You deserve it,” he said. “More than anyone I know, Karrin, you’ve earned the right to be happy.” He wrapped an arm around my waist and I allowed myself to be pulled onto his lap. We kissed, long and slow, my heart racing despite the languid pace. 

He murmured something against my lips. “Hmm?” I replied, pulling away reluctantly. 

“I said I think I might still be hungry,” he repeated. 

The look in his eyes told me exactly what he was hungry for, but I was feeling playful. “Oh, did you want some more toast?” I asked innocently, placing the plates back down on the table. I turned towards the counter where the loaf of bread was still out but only made it two steps forward before being pulled back. 

“Not quite what I was thinking of,” he whispered, his breath warm against the skin just beneath my ear. “Toast is too dry. I’m thinking of something more… moist.” 

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “Eww. You’re such a pig, Dresden,” I said, laughing nonetheless. 

“Oink, oink, Murph.” He stood up, picking me up effortlessly. “Time for second breakfast.” 

“Wait!” I called out in between bouts of giggling, before he tossed me onto the table. “Not here - those are my grandmother’s dishes. We can’t risk breaking those.” 

He stopped immediately, still holding me at an odd angle over the table. “You… you used your good china for me?” 

It hadn’t seemed like a big deal when I’d reached for the cupboard that held Grandma’s nice dishes, but Harry’s reaction made me wonder if I hadn’t somehow made a subconscious decision to make breakfast special for him. “Yeah,” I admitted. “I did.” The shy grin he gave me made me fall in love with him all over again. 

He set me down gently and we made quick work of clearing off the table, ensuring that Grandma’s dishes were safely stacked in the sink. Washing them, on the other hand, could wait til later. Much later. 

“Bedroom?” I asked eagerly, my libido in the driver’s seat. 

He shook his head. “Too far. Wall?” he countered. “After last night I’m…” He licked his lips. “Curious.” 

Watching his tongue dart out to trace his lower lip, I would have agreed to trying sex on the ceiling. Yeah, Harry wasn’t the only one who had it bad. I nodded, slipping out of my panties and kicking them off to the side - maybe, just maybe, I’d made more than one subconscious decision that morning. 

Closing the gap that separated us, I reached out, planting my hands palm out on his chest, and pushed him back against the wall. He quivered when my lips found a long, ragged scar, my tongue darting out to trace it. I found signs of other injuries, more than any man his age should ever have sustained, and gave each one the same attention. My hands, meanwhile, were busy teasing the skin just above the waistband of his underwear, slowly pushing it and his jeans down. 

My mouth followed my hands’ path south until I was crouching before him. I looked up and found him staring down at me, a mix of incredulity and lust in his eyes. “ _Karrin_ ,” he choked out when I took him in hand, my tongue darting out to taste him. His arms hung at his sides as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them, fingers flexing, hands hovering over my head and then back again. 

I took him in as deep as I could, pulling back slowly, my tongue tracing the underside of his cock, repeating the motion over and over. Taking a page from his book, I varied my speed and rhythm, always keeping him guessing, never giving him the satisfaction of knowing what came next. 

And then I found myself pressed between Harry and the wall, having once again been lifted as though I weighed no more than a child. His face was in the crook of my shoulder, his hands gripping my hips tight enough to border on painful. His breathing was ragged, but I could tell he was trying to regulate it. 

_Fucking Mantle_ , I thought to myself. _Can’t even have a bit of down and dirty without it trying to elbow its way out_. “You’re in charge, Harry,” I reminded him, keeping my voice steady and confident. “You’re the one calling the shots. You’re the one who decides when it can come out - not the other way around.” 

His breaths evened out, long, steady inhales and exhales, and his grip on me slackened. He pulled back and kissed me tenderly. “Thanks,” he whispered against my mouth. 

“You want me to go back down there?” I offered, unable to hide my smile. 

“Yeah. But I also want to fuck you,” he confessed, his voice still rough. “Want to feel you come apart around me.” 

_Damn_. Dirty talk was my kryptonite. There was something about the use of vulgar words in the most intimate of moments that always got my pulse racing, and damn it if he didn’t notice. 

His lips curled up into his trademark wiseass smirk. “Does it turn you on when I talk dirty?” he asked, amused. Needless to say I didn’t answer him - my focus was centred on all the places where our bodies were touching. 

He leaned in and kissed me passionately. “Do you like hearing that I want to fuck you? That I want to sink my cock deep inside your pussy?” 

“God, yes,” I replied without hesitation, scrabbling at the front buttons of my dress. Why the hell was I still wearing clothes? Harry helped me and, through our combined efforts, we had it off and tossed somewhere in the kitchen in no time flat, my bra following soon after. 

He slid into me easily and we began to rock together, slowly at first, until we found a rhythm that worked for us. I locked my fingers together behind his neck, using the grip as extra leverage as my hips and thighs moved down below. I held his gaze and smiled innocently as I contracted my internal muscles, gripping him tightly mid-thrust. Harry’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he let out a groan, muttering a hell’s bells, a _fuck!_ and something about evil women. 

As our movements became more frantic I began to slide downwards. Harry reached down to get a better grip on me - even in this position, our height difference was awkward - and, as he leaned down to kiss me again, the angle of his thrusts changed. My release hit me suddenly, completely blindsiding me. No gradual build, no slow climb - just _wham!_ and there it was in all its electrifying beauty. I let out a keening wail, my back arching off the wall, fingers digging into his biceps. “Oh, _god_ , Harry,” I moaned, riding out the aftershocks of the orgasm and trying my best not to melt into a puddle before he came, too. 

Harry followed right on my heels, grunting out his own release, not caring about his volume any more than I had. I gave a quick thanks, as he pressed me hard against the wall, that I’d replaced the old textured wallpaper with a coat of paint a few years ago. Carpet burn from a wall? Not so much fun, thank you. 

“Still hungry?” I teased afterwards, watching him try to catch his breath. I carded my fingers through his eternally-mussed hair, following down his neck and shoulders, scraping my blunt fingernails against his heated skin. 

He pulled back, his pupils still dilated. “You keep screaming my name like you just did and I will _never_ stop being hungry for you, Murph,” he replied, dead serious. 

My lips pulled into a slow smile. “Then you’ll have to make sure I have a reason to scream it loud as often as possible, won’t you?” 

He let out a bark of laughter and kissed me on the nose before gently letting me down. I usually don't take too well to being handled like I’m made of porcelain, but since my legs felt like they were made of jelly I let it slide. 

The sex was a good excuse for a shower, after which we retreated back to my bed and made love again. Twice. I tamped down that small part of me that started panicking - _this is too good to be true, this is a mistake, this is going to turn out like every other relationship I’ve ever had_ \- and told it to shove it. Harry was my best friend, had been for a long, long time, and we’d been moving towards this since… probably since we’d met, actually. 

I know what it’s like not to have Harry around and it was the worst, most wretched year of my life. Call it experience, call it maturity, call it whatever you want - I’ve come to accept that I deserve to be happy. And if Harry Dresden is the man who makes me happy, then I can accept that, too. 

*^^*^^* 

That evening, Thomas dropped by for a visit. He let himself into my house using the key I’d given him and passed through the wards using the charm the Paranetters had given him. 

Harry and I were comfortably nestled on the couch; he was well into the first Cormoran Strike novel and I was leaning back against him with a sudoku puzzle book on my lap. It had been that kind of lazy day - well, after we expended a ton of energy ‘catching up’, as he put it. 

We both looked up from our diversions to wave and say hi, and Thomas stopped partway through toeing his insanely expensive runners off to stare at us. “Empty night,” he said, staring at us wide-eyed. “You guys _finally_ pulled your heads out of your asses.” 

I turned, swung my legs over the edge of the couch and dropped my puzzle onto the coffee table. “What the hell are you talking about?” I asked. 

“Sex!” he all but shouted, kicking his other shoe off. “You guys finally had _sex_. And lots of it, from the feel of it.” 

I felt my cheeks redden. Before I could say anything, Harry put his book down on his lap and frowned. 

“Wait. You can _feel_ it?” 

If Thomas had rolled his eyes any harder, they’d have fallen from his head and disappeared under the couch. “Hello, _sex vampire_. Of course I can feel it - it leaves behind a sort of psychic residue. The stronger the emotions, the stronger the residue.” He gave us a knowing smirk. “I’ve been in brothels where the sensation wasn’t half as strong.” 

I stood up. “Ok. I am _so_ not having this conversation right now.” I left the room to grab some drinks, leaving Harry to deal with his overly perceptive brother. 

In the kitchen, I grabbed three bottles of Mac’s latest concoction - a honey stout - from the fridge and placed them on the counter (Sorry, Mac, but I just don’t do warm beer). Then I dug through my cupboards until I found the family-sized bag of pretzels I’d bought during a weak moment at the grocery store a few days ago, pouring half of it into a plastic bowl. 

I caught my reflection in the kitchen window and stopped to look at it. For the first time in ages, the woman staring back at me looked relaxed and happy. Even through the night-darkened glass I could see the shadows beneath my eyes had lessened, and my lips weren’t pressed together tightly. All that after one day of being really, truly happy. What would I look like after a week? A month? Heck, what would I _feel_ like? 

How many years had I wasted pining away for the life I’d once wanted instead of just enjoying the life I had? Up until a few years ago I’d still been under the delusion that the husband and two point five kids were possible. That’s not me; I know that, now. I slay werewolves, join insane faerie hunting parties, fight alongside Knights of the Cross and hang out with vampires - _that’s_ who I am. 

“Hey.” Harry came up behind me, surprising me from my thoughts. “You ok?” 

“Yup,” I replied, turning around to face him. “More than ok, actually.” He leaned down and we shared a kiss - probably our tamest of the day - before pulling apart. “I was still thinking about why we didn’t do this years ago, Harry.” 

“Both too stubborn, I guess,” he said, shrugging. 

“Us? Stubborn? Nah,” I joked. He was right, though, we’d been stubborn to the point of being blind to what was right there in front of us: potential happiness. Maybe it wasn’t so much stubbornness as much as not believing we deserved it. 

“Come on,” I said, reaching for the bowl of pretzels while he grabbed our beers. “Let’s get back to the living room before your brother thinks we’re at it again.” 

Harry waggled his eyebrows. “We could always pretend. You know, let out a couple of moans, rock the table back and forth…” 

“Vampire hearing, too!” A deep voice called from the other side of the wall. “As hot as Karrin is, I’d rather not imagine your tall, skinny ass having sex. Brain bleach doesn’t come strong enough to counter that.” 

“Maybe I’ll just pour his beer over his head,” Harry grumbled, turning towards the living room. “Bah, it’d be a waste of good beer…” 

I watched him walk away and smiled, shaking my head. I followed him and we all sat down and drank beer, ate pretzels, swapped crazy stories and laughed. 

Sure, it wasn’t the life I’d imagined for myself all those years ago, but right now? Right now, I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Please remember to review - feedback is nourishment to a writer's soul!


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